


Hijinks! At The Gallery

by MirrorMystic



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Comedy, Fluff, Gen, Post-Canon, Rating for language and some dirty humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-24
Updated: 2019-08-24
Packaged: 2020-09-26 00:09:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20380405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MirrorMystic/pseuds/MirrorMystic
Summary: It's Yusuke's big night! His university is unveiling a brand new art gallery with his work front and center. Unfortunately, not all of the former Phantom Thieves can make it to the grand opening-- and the ones that can are hardly the high society type.(Hijinks ensue.)





	Hijinks! At The Gallery

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ThaddeusBandido](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThaddeusBandido/gifts).

> Find me on Twitter at @mystic_writes!
> 
> Do you have stories to be told, but need help with the telling? Send me an e-mail at nathaneraya@yahoo.com!

~*~  
  
Even though the campus was swarming with people, Futaba was always easy to find. She was the only redhead in a sea of brunettes, and she stuck out like a sore thumb. Then again, so did he.  
  
“Hey!” Ryuji grinned. He held his hand high above Futaba’s head. “What’s up, nerdling?”  
  
“Nothing much, skullface,” Futaba said, hopping up to high-five him. “What the hell are you wearing? Did your _ mom _ dress you today?”  
  
“ _ Maybe _ ,” Ryuji huffed, adjusting his tie. “What the hell are _ you _ wearing? Yusuke said we were supposed to get dressed up.”  
  
Futaba glanced down at her dress, black accented with electric blue, and her dark leggings covered in neon splatter paint print.  
  
“Uh, yeah,” Futaba said. “Do you think I’d wear a dress for just anyone?”  
  
“Dude, you’re wearing leggings.”  
  
“Yeah, because you’re supposed to wear leggings with a dress.”  
  
“Alright, are you supposed to wear big, clunky boots, too?”  
  
They swatted at each other, grinning. Something caught Futaba’s eye in the growing crowd. She thumped Ryuji in the chest in excitement.  
  
“Oh! Oh! Look who’s here!” she cried.  
  
Haru made a beeline for the duo, the crowd parting like waves around her form. For tonight’s event, she was dressed in a long, powder-blue gown accented with pink floral embroidery and climbing vines, with accompanying pink chiffon wrap. Her hair was pinned up in an elegant bun, a pair of silver butterfly clips nestled within. She looked, in a word, stunning.  
  
“Damn…” Ryuji whistled, long and low. “Haru… you look… amazing.”  
  
“You’re like a super-rare seasonal alt that people would spend all their quartz on!” Futaba chimed in.  
  
“I suppose I’ll take that as a compliment,” Haru tittered. She smiled, her cheeks as rosy as her outfit. She reached out, straightening Ryuji’s tie. “You look so cute, Ryuji. Did your mother dress you?”  
  
“...maybe…” Ryuji muttered, sheepish.  
  
“And you, Futaba,” Haru beamed. “You look lovely. I like your leggings.”  
  
“Thanks,” Futaba grinned. “Kana says they make my ass look like the floor of a 90s arcade.”  
  
“What ass?” Ryuji teased. Futaba thumped him again.  
  
“I’m glad you two could make it,” Haru said. “Even if this sort of event isn’t quite your cup of tea.”  
  
“Hey man, Yusuke asked. I wasn’t gonna say no,” Ryuji said.  
  
“Futaba?” Haru asked.  
  
“What Ryuji said,” Futaba shrugged. “...also, Yusuke said there’d be free food.”  
  
Haru giggled. “Well, then. Let’s go greet our host.”  
  
They found Yusuke shaking hands with an older man in a suit, bowing as the man went on his way. It seemed like the man was hardly the first. Already, Yusuke had the tell-tale signs of social exhaustion. You could see it in his face; just as clearly as you could see the way his eyes lit up when he saw his friends coming through the crowd.  
  
“Welcome, welcome,” Yusuke said warmly. “I’m so glad you came.”  
  
“Well, you know,” Futaba preened. “Anything for you, Inari.”  
  
Yusuke placed a hand above Futaba’s head and she leaned into the touch. He turned, and greeted Haru with a pair of exaggerated cheek kisses.  
  
“You look radiant,” Yusuke smiled.  
  
“So do you,” Haru beamed.  
  
And he did. For tonight’s event, Yusuke was dressed to the nines in a midnight-blue kimono flecked with stars, along with a glossy off-white outer robe. Compared to Ryuji’s sober, dark suit, Yusuke looked positively ethereal.  
  
“Dude, you look great,” Ryuji grinned.  
  
“Thank you,” Yusuke nodded. “You, as well. Though you look a bit stiff.”  
  
“Oh, you think so?” Ryuji wondered, tugging at his collar. “I just thought it was nice to wear this for something other than a funeral.”  
  
“Still,” Yusuke said. “Thank you for coming.”  
  
“You asked,” Ryuji shrugged. “I wasn’t gonna say no.”  
  
Ryuji took Yusuke’s hand and pulled him into a hug, giving him a hearty clap on the back.  
  
“Two bros, hugging with their hands between them, because they’re not gay…” Futaba muttered under her breath. Haru giggled and jabbed an elbow into her ribs.  
  
“Again, I thank you all for coming,” Yusuke said, bowing his head. “Tonight’s a big night: the grand opening of the university’s new gallery, featuring art from the students themselves-- my own included.”  
  
“We’re so proud of you, Yu-kun,” Haru cooed.  
  
Yusuke smiled. “Thank you, but I’m sure you’ll forgive a bit of anxiety on my part. In attendance tonight, in addition to students, faculty, their friends and families, are a number of Tokyo’s most prestigious art critics, as well as a number of company representatives scouting budding talent. For a precious few of the students here, tonight could be the start of a… heh. ‘Illustrious’ career.”  
  
“Geez,” Futaba murmured. “No pressure.”  
  
“On the contrary, there’s quite a bit of pressure,” Yusuke said without batting an eye. “But do not fret. Diamonds are made under pressure, after all.”  
  
“We’re here for you, buddy,” Ryuji urged.  
  
“And I’m glad for it,” Yusuke said, bowing his head again. “As my guests, please remember that your actions reflect not just upon myself, but on the university. As such, we must be mindful of acting with a certain… decorum.”  
  
“Of course!” Haru chirped. “Don’t worry, Yu-kun. While we’re here, we’ll carry ourselves with the _ utmost _ sophistication.”  
  
~*~  
  
“Hey, Ryuji, get a load of this shit!”  
  
“Whoa,” Ryuji whistled.  
  
Ryuji and Futaba had taken two steps into the main gallery before being immediately sidetracked by the catering table. A vast array of high-class refreshment stretched out before them, to their awe and mild confusion.  
  
“They’re like eggs, but weird,” Futaba blinked, baffled.  
  
Ryuji picked up a deviled egg and sniffed it. “Smells alright.”  
  
“Try it.”  
  
Ryuji popped it in his mouth, chewing thoughtfully. “...Yeah. Yeah, they’re eggs, but weird. Good, though.”  
  
“Check these out,” Futaba chimed in, taking a bite of spanakopita and getting crumbs all over her dress. She continued, her mouth full. “It’s like pie, but it’s not sweet. It’s salty. It’s got, like, spinach and cheese and stuff in it.”  
  
“Oh, man,” Ryuji grinned, taking his own, messy bite, “Ann would _ hate _ these…”  
  
“Hello, you two,” Haru said primly, emerging from the crowd of students and socialites.  
  
“Hey, Haru!” Ryuji called. “Hey, check out this bourgeoisie-ass spread. I’ve never seen anything like it.”  
  
“Yeah, like these meatballs,” Futaba said, poking a cocktail meatball with a toothpick and popping it in her mouth. “They’ve also got this amazing sauce. It’s sweet, and tangy…”  
  
Haru tittered. “I believe that’s just grape jelly and ketchup.”  
  
Futaba sputtered. “What? Seriously?”  
  
“It’s good, though,” Ryuji shrugged, taking another bite. “Mm. Man, all this stuff’s great. But you know what would make it better?”  
  
“What?” Futaba asked.  
  
Ryuji grinned, and grabbed a plate. “Gimme a minute. I’ve got an idea.”  
  
“Is this your first time having western-style hors-d'oeuvres?” Haru asked, while Ryuji turned and began fussing about.   
  
“Is _ that _ how you say that?” Futaba wondered.  
  
“Hm? Yes, why?”  
  
“I dunno. I just never heard it said out loud before,” Futaba shrugged. “Every time I saw it written, I thought it was some weird shit like ‘horse divorce’.”  
  
Ryuji snorted. Haru giggled, a hand to her mouth.  
  
“Well, I’m certainly glad to help you expand your horizons,” Haru said. “Here. Why don’t you try this? It’s called ‘risotto’. It’s an Italian dish, rice cooked with broth and butter until it’s nice and creamy. Here, go on.”  
  
Ryuji and Futaba took the offered spoonfuls and popped them in their mouths. Ryuji looked thoughtful.  
  
“Hm. I mean… it _ tastes _ really good. But the texture’s… kinda…”  
  
Futaba made a face. “It tastes like cum.”  
  
Ryuji choked. Haru let out a very unladylike snort.  
  
“I see you three have your priorities in order,” Yusuke said dryly, having finally managed to free himself from the crowd, if only for the moment.  
  
“Sorry, ‘Nari,” Futaba chirped, “We got distracted by the food. Can’t make an artistic critique on an empty stomach, after all.”  
  
“I hardly think ill of you for it,” Yusuke sighed. He rubbed his eyes, weary. “Indeed, tonight has been rife with interviews and introductions. Everyone wants me to smile for a photograph and shake someone’s hand. It’s exhausting. I admit, I’ve scarcely had the opportunity to even _ admire _ tonight’s refreshment, let alone partake.”  
  
“Oh, you poor thing,” Haru cooed.  
  
“It is quite the selection, though, isn’t it?” Yusuke continued, impressed. “Where do I even begin?”  
  
There was a loud crunch behind them. They turned to discover Ryuji, hunched over his plate, crumbs spilling from his mouth. In his hands was a sandwich stuffed with deviled eggs, cocktail meatballs, spanakopita, and who knew what else, a patently absurd culinary creation that seemed like something straight out of an old 80s comedy.  
  
“Hey, buddy,” Ryuji said, his mouth full. “You wanna go halfsies?”  
  
Yusuke blinked.  
  
“...Yes, actually,” he said. “I would enjoy that quite a bit.”  
  
~*~  
  
Yusuke had just enough time to wolf down his sandwich full of appetizers before his professors took him by the arm and swept him away once again. The trio was left to explore the gallery at their leisure; for the moment, they found themselves in a wing adjoining the main gallery, this one filled with sculpted busts and baked clay figurines.  
  
Haru was fondly watching Ryuji and Futaba’s staring contest with a pair of meticulously hand-sculpted Chinese guardian lions when she happened upon another pair of familiar faces.  
  
“Haru? Is that you?”  
  
An unlikely duo came striding her way-- Hifumi, looking striking in a midnight-blue blazer, ruffled blouse and charcoal-gray pencil skirt, and Mishima beside her, in a dress-shirt, suspenders, and a black and white checkered bowtie. It was certainly a look. Good or not was debatable, but it was certainly a look.  
  
“Hey!” Haru chirped, her eyes lighting up.  
  
“Hey, you guys!” Mishima waved.  
  
“Fumi…!”  
  
Hifumi grunted as Futaba darted past Haru and collided with her stomach. She smiled, laying a fond hand in Futaba’s hair.  
  
“Fumi! It’s so weird to see you IRL!” Futaba babbled, excited.  
  
Hifumi chuckled. “There’s more to me than being a raid leader, you know…”  
  
“What’s up, Ryuji?” Mishima smiled. They traded fistbumps.  
  
“Nice bowtie, nerd,” Ryuji grinned.  
  
Mishima rolled his eyes. “Says the guy whose shirt is half-untucked.”  
  
Ryuji looked down at his increasingly-disheveled looking suit. “Hey man, I’ve been trying to loosen up. Yusuke said I was looking a little stiff, and that’s coming from a guy in full kimono.”  
  
“I’m guessing you guys are here for Yusuke’s big night, right?” Mishima grinned. “Where’s the rest of the gang?”  
  
Ryuji and Futaba exchanged glances. “...Well…”  
  
~*~  
  
Miles away, Akira was asleep on a beach chair with Morgana curled up on his chest. His phone was buzzing with a call from Ryuji that eventually chirped as it went to voicemail. Down the shore, Ann and Shiho were hard at work burying Makoto and her favorite sunglasses up to her neck in the sand.  
  
“You better not be giving me huge boobs,” Makoto chided.  
  
“We’re not,” Shiho giggled, as Ann snapped a photo of Makoto with a sand-sculpted physique that would put JoJo’s Bizarre Adventure to shame.  
  
~*~  
  
Ryuji coughed. “...They were busy.”  
  
“Bummer,” Mishima shrugged.  
  
“We’re having our own event just down the hall,” Hifumi explained. “Yuuki took it upon himself to give the animation club a similar excuse to get all dressed up.”  
  
“Yeah,” Mishima grinned, sheepish. “It’s… not nearly as fancy as all this. But we’ve got chips, soda, and several external hard drives’ worth of anime, if you guys wanna stop by.”  
  
“Oooh,” Futaba said. “That sounds more like my kinda night.”  
  
Ryuji thumped her on the head. She shot him a look.  
  
“We’re _ not _ ditching Yusuke on his big night,” Ryuji scolded.  
  
“I would’ve come back for him after an episode. Or three,” Futaba pouted.  
  
“Well, we won’t keep you from him for too long,” Hifumi said. “But if you have two minutes to spare, would you like to take a look at our joint animation thesis?”  
  
“Of course!” Haru beamed.  
  
“Alright!” Mishima grinned, pulling his laptop out of his bag. “Gather ‘round, everyone. You’re in for a treat...”  
  
~*~  
  
_ A man in white and a woman in black meet in an empty room, dark save for a spotlight cast over a table and a shogi board. They bow to each other in respect, before taking their seats at the table. White makes the first move, and clacks his tile into place. _ _  
_ _  
_ _ The art style shifts into thick painterly outlines on a backdrop of lacquered wood. The inked characters on the shogi tile flow from the tile and become the outline of a lone knight on horseback, patrolling the woods. _ _  
_ _  
_ _ Black makes her move. Ink flows from her tile and becomes hooded shadows in the woods. They raise their bows. Their arrows fly-- _ _  
_ _  
_ _ Another shogi tile clacks down. A close-up of an arrow in flight becomes a waving banner. The camera pans down to show White’s army assembled, their armor gleaming. An order is barked down the line, and the shield wall braces for the charge-- _ _  
_ _  
_ _ Clack. Interlocked shields become the scales of a great dragon, bellowing into the skies. Black’s army swarms over the hills like ants-- _ _  
_ _  
_ _ Clack. The hills become the curved domes of magicked shields, rising over White’s forces. Wizards stand below, chanting, their gnarled staves held aloft-- _ _  
_ _  
_ _ Clack. Gnarled wood becomes leathery wings as the black dragon soars over the battlefield, its rider with sword held high, silhouetted against a bloody sunset. Fire gathers in the great beast’s maw, and comes crashing down like a meteor-- _ _  
_ _  
_ _ One last tile hits the board with a resounding clack. Black stands, an ominous shadow over the shogi board, while the White player clutches his heart and falls to the ground. _ _  
_ _  
_ _ The camera pulls out, revealing the table and shogi board in the midst of a ruined, burning medieval battlefield. It pulls back, and back, until the whole world is nothing but a single shogi tile, falling through space, that cuts to black with one final, resounding clack. _  
  
~*~  
  
“Holy shit!” Futaba cried. “You _ made _ that?”  
  
Mishima chuckled. “Yeah, and it took us forever…”  
  
“The White king and Black queen looked rather familiar,” Haru mused, smiling.  
  
“Yeah, man,” Ryuji bumped an elbow into Mishima’s. “If you’re gonna cast yourself in a movie, why’d you make it so you had to die?”  
  
“Look, man, if it gets us an A, Hifumi can kill me as many times as she likes.”  
  
“ _ Le petit mort _ ,” Haru teased. Hifumi swatted at her arm.  
  
“Well done,” came a voice behind them.  
  
The entire group jumped. Yusuke, for his part, merely raised an eyebrow.  
  
“Geez, man, don’t sneak up on us like that,” Mishima laughed, a little too loudly after almost dropping his laptop on the floor.  
  
“Yusuke,” Hifumi dipped her head. “Congratulations on being featured in the new gallery.”  
  
“Thank you,” Yusuke said primly. “And congratulations to you two on your own project, as well. I managed to catch the latter half of it. Outstanding work.”  
  
“Thanks,” Mishima said, his cheeks pink. “That means a lot, coming from you.”  
  
“Hey, Inari!” Futaba cut in. “You managed to escape!”  
  
“Who knows how long that will last?” Yusuke said dryly.  
  
Not very long at all, apparently. A camera shutter clicked behind the group, and Yusuke turned, greeted by a reporter who hid her eyes behind a pair of garish amber shades.  
  
“Speak of the Devil,” Yusuke muttered.  
  
“Yusuke Kitagawa, man of the hour!” Ohya cried, grinning. “And if I’m not mistaken, shogi master Hifumi Togo and Haru Okumura of Okumura Foods!”  
  
Since Ohya felt the need to announce it to the whole world, a gaggle of reporters soon swarmed around them like bees. The elegant atmosphere of the gallery became filled with the incessant clicking and chirping of digital cameras.  
  
“What an unlikely trio you’ve made here, Mr. Kitagawa,” Ohya buzzed.  
  
“Not _ so _ unlikely,” Hifumi said dryly. “I’m a student here, too.”  
  
“Ms. Okumura,” Ohya continued, undeterred. “You’re looking ravishing this evening! What’s your relationship with rising star Yusuke Kitagawa?”  
  
“He’s a dear friend,” Haru said, slipping on a practiced, patient smile for the press. “We met at a very… turbulent time in my life. But he’s stood by me ever since.”  
  
“Ohoho!” Ohya crowed. “Is this love, Ms. Okumura?”  
  
Haru winced. “Um, well… that’s...”  
  
A few steps away, Futaba jabbed an elbow into Ryuji’s gut.  
  
“Ryuji, do something!” Futaba hissed.  
  
“Don’t worry. I got this,” Ryuji said, reaching into his suit jacket.  
  
“Do you just bring that with you wherever you go?” Mishima wondered.  
  
“Excuse me.”  
  
Ohya and her swarm of fellow reporters looked up at the gruff voice. They found Ryuji in a rumpled suit, arms across his chest, wearing his go-to pair of bad boy shades. He cracked his knuckles, so the whole crowd could see.  
  
“No more questions,” Ryuji growled out, in his best, grittiest action hero voice. “Step away from Miss Okumura.”  
  
~*~  
  
The press didn’t bother them much after that. As the evening wore on, the crowd began to thin, and finally, _ finally _ Yusuke could take some time to appreciate his own art at his leisure. While Futaba and Mishima were talking about anime season finales and putting together their own absurd appetizer sandwiches, Yusuke was giving Haru, Hifumi and Ryuji a tour of his featured section of the exhibit.  
  
The trio was particularly taken with one painting in particular. It was a painting of a girl in a red dress on a swing, her pigtails flying in the breeze. It was a vivid recreation of Jean-Honore Fragonard’s 18th-century masterpiece _ The Swing _ \-- except the girl in the painting was unmistakably, undeniably Ann.  
  
“Damn. Ann’s never looked better,” Ryuji said. He and Yusuke exchanged dry looks. “...Don’t tell her I said that.”  
  
“Oh, Yusuke, it’s gorgeous,” Haru cooed.  
  
“You like it?” Yusuke smiled, bemused. “This is the only night you’re going to see it. After tonight, I’ll be taking it down and giving it to Ann for her birthday.”  
  
“Oh man, she’ll love that,” Ryuji grinned. “A Kitagawa original hanging above her fireplace? That’ll really class up her living room.”  
  
“This painting doesn’t really seem like your style,” Hifumi observed.  
  
“It isn’t,” Yusuke admitted. “It’s rare that I attempt so direct an homage. And, I’m sure you all know, most of my art is much, much more abstract. But my professors urged me to include, just for tonight, a more, ah… grounded, piece.”  
  
Yusuke paused.  
  
“...I’m prepared to call that cowardice.”  
  
“Why’s that? I mean, it looks great,” Ryuji said.  
  
“Why, thank you, but that’s not the point,” Yusuke said. “Seeking to emulate the beauty of the real world is a worthy goal, but it can be a limiting one, as well. The leaves, the grass, the trees, the creases in clothing, the wind through one’s hair-- we can already see and appreciate these things for ourselves. In my abstract work, I seek to capture emotions that do not yet have visual form. Take this piece, for example.”  
  
Yusuke ushered them down the wing, to another painting. This one was a bright explosion of color splattered onto a canvas.  
  
“Here I attempted to capture the feeling of being struck by artistic inspiration,” Yusuke said. “Of course, unlike trees, or grass, or beautiful blonde women, nature has no visual reference by which I can compare my notion of ‘inspiration’, leaving its beauty, and worth, solely in the hands of the viewer.”  
  
“What are we talking about?” Mishima asked. He and Futaba rejoined the group, dabbing at their mouths with napkins.  
  
“Ah, Yuuki, perfect timing,” Yusuke said. “Consider this painting. How would you interpret it?”  
  
“...Um.” Mishima hesitated, sheepish. “I’m gonna say something stupid.”  
  
“No, no, please, go on,” Yusuke urged.  
  
Mishima cleared his throat, gazing up at the bright splashes of color splattered haphazardly across the canvas.  
  
“Uh… I was gonna say… it looks like the wall behind a clown that got stabbed to death.”  
  
Yusuke blinked. “Ah.”  
  
“It’s you, Yuuki,” Hifumi said flatly. “You’re the clown.”  
  
“ _ Thanks _ , Fumi.”  
  
Yusuke coughed. “So you see my point, in that abstract work is open to interpretation. Futaba? What do you see in this painting?”  
  
Futaba shot him a wry look. “I’m just gonna say something stupider.”  
  
Yusuke sighed. “No. Please. Go on.”  
  
“Okay,” Futaba said with a straight face. “It looks like the floor after a mythical creature bukkake.”  
  
Hifumi and Haru snorted, then shoved each other, laughing, when they did it at the same time. Mishima thumped Futaba on the head as a scolding. She huffed, indignant, and thumped him on the arm.  
  
Yusuke stood in the center of it all, somehow unfazed.  
  
“No, no, it’s a compliment,” Ryuji said, affecting a posh accent. “She meant it reminded her of famous artist Buford Kake, but his friends, you see, they all call him ‘Bu’.”  
  
“Really,” Yusuke said dryly. “I’ve never heard of him.”  
  
Yusuke took in the circle of his friends: Haru and Hifumi clinging to each other, incapacitated by giggle fits. Futaba and Mishima, swatting at each other like cats. And then there was Ryuji, grinning, just in awe at it all.  
  
“Hey,” Ryuji said, bumping an elbow against Yusuke’s. “We make one hell of an entourage, huh?”  
  
Yusuke sighed, and smiled.  
  
“It is both a twist of fate and a staggering irony when _I_ must play ‘straight man’,” Yusuke said.  
  
“Sorry you spent most of tonight tied up talking to _actual_ adults,” Ryuji drawled.  
  
“It’s quite alright,” Yusuke said. “But do you think you could do me one more favor?”  
  
“Yeah, man. Anything.”  
  
Ryuji grunted as Yusuke pushed a large duffel bag into his hands. He unzipped the bag and found a huge stack of Tupperware inside. Ryuji raised an eyebrow, glancing between the plastic bins and the still halfway-stocked catering table.  
  
“We should do our part to help clean up,” Yusuke smiled. “And for the next week or so, I’ll eat like a king.”  
  
~*~


End file.
